Where Can We Go From Here?
by Mistress Reigns
Summary: After his match with Sheamus at WrestleMania, Hunter finds himself avoiding the conversation he knows they have to have. Even if it means spending the evening with the drunk wife he's not technically supposed to be cheating on.


"You're an idiot, Hunter." Stephanie is drunk and leaning against him, squinting to make out the little words on her phone screen as she no doubt drunk texts one of her mistresses or whatever. He honestly can't be bothered to care anymore, not when the last time he asked he was pretty sure she was getting more action than he was. "You gave him what he wanted. You are an idiot."

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, then rakes it through his hair for good measure as he stares blankly at the packed club in front of him. WrestleMania XXVI went off without a hitch, and maybe he should be happy about that. But he isn't. He's sitting here, not even close to as drunk as he wants to be, ruminating about a match he never should have been in this time around.

In his defense, Sheamus did want the match. It was more than the stupid promos they cut—though Sheamus had cut some excellent ones, including the one they broadcast before the match—and Hunter thought he had done well for himself, talking about the Warrior and his own stupid, childish mistakes. It's been a fun feud, certainly, and he knows it had to turn out this way because Sheamus is still too young and too green to score a major victory like this.

It's not going to make going back to his hotel room any easier. Waking up in the morning, or just trying to sleep in general, is going to be hell unless he can imbibe enough alcohol to make falling into unconsciousness inevitable instead of a fleeting dream. He would rather deal with a hangover in the morning than the conversation he knows he has to have with Sheamus.

"Hunter!" The heavily accented voice startles the fuck out of him, and he blinks, turning his head to see who the voice came from when somebody suddenly plops down in his lap. "Here you are."

Drew McIntyre. So not the person he wants to see right now, but Drew is already making himself at home in Hunter's lap and stealing a sip from his beer. Sometimes, he hates how comfortable the Scot is with literally _everyone_ in the company. "Were you looking for me, Drew?"

"Hmm? No. No, I wasn't looking for you. But I had to come look for you because somebody else couldn't find you." Drew narrows his eyes at him, and Hunter sighs.

"Look, I know, okay? You don't have to tell me." He holds up a hand, the other braced in the small of Drew's back to keep him from falling. "He wants to talk to me. I know."

Drew scowls at him. "He said he's called you seven times and you haven't answered."

"That's because I let it go to voicemail." No use in lying, is there? It'll only cause more trouble.

"That's a dick thing to do. He's your... Whatever." Drew shrugs and shakes out his hair.

_Whatever._ It's accurate but fuck does it sound so bad. "I know. Look, I just don't know what to say to him right now. I need time to think about it and then I'll talk to him."

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe he has a legitimate reason to talk to you that doesn't have anything to do with all of this?" Drew gestures vaguely, but Hunter gets it nonetheless.

He furrows his eyebrows because there was nothing to talk about before the match, so what could there be to talk about now? Other than the match, that is. "What are you talking about?"

Drew doesn't answer, just picks Hunter's phone up from the table and slaps it against his chest before standing and sauntering away. Back to the little group of NXT rookies who immediately make room for him. Well, good to know someone is making friends with the new guys.

But what did he mean by Sheamus needing to talk to him about something else? It's not like there is anything to talk about. Or is there and he's been largely too stupid to realize it? _Shit._

_What if this is about us? What if he wants to know where he stands? If this is actually something?_

It better not be any of that. It better not be another plea to make their relationship more serious because Hunter can't take that shit. But he does open a text and assures Sheamus he's on the way before dropping some cash on the table—he isn't sure how much, just hopes it'll be enough—and exits the bar. The night air is cool on his skin, sobering even though he isn't drunk.

He hails a taxi because he came in Stephanie's car and doesn't plan on going back inside to ask her for her keys. Plus, drunk or not, she isn't stupid enough to trust him with her keys. Probably a good thing just because he might lose them. He has a tendency to lose track of important things.

His phone vibrates in his hand, and he checks the screen. An answering text. _Oh, fuck._

But it's just a reminder of their hotel room number and nothing else. Nothing. _Double fuck._

Arriving at the hotel should be exciting because seeing Sheamus is supposed to be a good thing, but the overwhelming sense of dread settles on Hunter's shoulders the moment he walks through the doors and heads for the elevators. Just get to his room, talk whatever it is out, and then go to bed. But whatever they have to talk about is going to be difficult. He can already sense it.

The elevator ride is too short, and far too soon for his liking, he finds himself standing in front of their hotel room door, lifting his hand to knock and debating running like a little bitch.

The door is yanked open before he has a chance to run, and just like that, Sheamus is right here.

"Hunter." His voice is tense, eyes completely blank. _Triple fuck._ "Your phone not working?"

He can always make up a story about how his phone didn't work, or how it didn't ring or vibrate or indicate there was a call coming in, but that would be lying. This... Affair for lack of a better word has been built on honesty, and changing that now is pointless. So he just shakes his head.

Sheamus is unamused, clearly, but turns and heads into the room, leaving the open door as an invitation. Yet again, chance to run. But Hunter sucks it up and steps into the room, pushing the door shut behind him. The click of it latching home makes his stomach tighten and his pulse beat wildly in his throat, but this is just talking. Too bad he sucks at talking. By and large, he has always been much better at actions. Like punching or fucking. Something that makes sense.

The Irishman drops down on the bed, back against the headboard. "I'm tired of this, Hunter."

"Tired of what?" He sits at the end of the bed, back to the footboard, and crosses his legs whereas Sheamus keeps his impossibly long ones stretched out. "Tired of you and me?"

He better not say that. If he says that, Hunter is going to fucking fall apart and he can't really handle that right now. There is only one constant in his life, and that constant is Sheamus.

At least the look of disbelief eases his mind. "No, _not_ us. I'm tired of... I'm just tired."

His head falls back, eyes staring up at the ceiling, and then he squeezes them shut so tightly that it hurts... And the tears fall anyway. Hunter is startled since he's never seen Sheamus cry, but not so startled he doesn't know how to react. This he understands. He crawls across the mattress and spills himself in against Sheamus's body, one arm catching him around the waist, carding his fingers through that ridiculously vivid orange hair. And the starch leaves Sheamus's body instantly as he twists around to press his face against Hunter's neck. His bear scratches but it's a familiar sensation and it honestly stopped bothering Hunter months ago when he had time to get used to it. He lets Sheamus huddle against him, stroking through his hair gently.

"It's okay. I've got you. I'm here now. It's okay." Nonsense, really, but it's all he has.

This is normal. Most of the new wrestlers are starting to experience that breakdown that occurs somewhere between a year and two years of being in the company. Considering how demanding it is, between the constant exercise, the traveling, the storylines, and the actual performing each night, it gets tiring. Hunter had his breakdown in the locker room and came out of it with a handful of people on either side of him, rubbing his back and his shoulders and telling him to breathe through it, that he would be fine. Sheamus will be fine, too. He just needs to let it out.

Though now Hunter does truly feel like an asshole. He was avoiding the phone, not wanting to talk about the match, about what it might have done to them, and Sheamus just needed him here so he could fall apart and let out the tension and the pressure building up inside of him. Which says a lot about him and a lot more about Sheamus, but he doesn't want to be introspective now.

He just keeps stroking Sheamus's hair, listening to the heart wrenching sobs and knowing, logically, there is nothing he can do about them. They aren't his fault. But he still feels responsible for this entire scenario and he wants it to just pass as soon as it possibly can.

When Sheamus finally calms down to hiccups, Hunter pulls the Celt into his lap and turns to press a kiss to his forehead. "I'm sorry I avoided you. I should have just come back here."

"It's okay. You're here now." Long, pale fingers knot in the front of his t-shirt. "'s okay."

"I just thought you wanted to talk about the match, and... I didn't hurt you, did I?" He feels like an idiot for asking; shouldn't a skilled wrestler be better than this? But he really isn't.

Sheamus shakes his head, then presses his face harder against Hunter's neck, curling into him more, and Hunter obliges by pulling him closer and wrapping him tightly in his arms. "I'm okay. Just sore, but I'll be better in the morning. Are you okay? I mean, the kick..."

"I'm fine. Didn't hurt that much." Okay, now he's lying, but this is a white lie because the last thing he wants to do is set Sheamus off again. Not when he's finally calm and making sense again. Besides, he's a big boy and kicks to the face are going to hurt. He signed up for this.

"Good. It's not fun when people get hurt." Sheamus leans back a bit, scrubs a hand over his face. "Hunter, I just... I'm tired and I hate hiding this, and I just wish we could be open about it."

_Goddamn it._ Where did they go from here? It's not like they can just come out. He's _married._

But saying nothing is going to make this situation even worse than it is right now—and even though Sheamus has calmed down, the situation is pretty fucking terrible. "I'll talk to Steph about it. If she's ready to end things, then we can work on that and tell everyone like you want."

More silence, and he's pretty sure he's about to be told that his plan isn't good enough, which will leave him with no more cards up his sleeves this evening, when Sheamus nods and lays his head back on Hunter's shoulder. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Because he doesn't know what to say, but he should be polite, right?

Stephanie might just agree to the divorce, and maybe he and Sheamus can actually be honest. He doesn't know, not really, but they have to go _somewhere_ from here. There's no stopping it.


End file.
